


i gave you my heart and you used it as seasoning

by smoke_rings_and_paper_dolls



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Jaehyungparkian, Lord, M/M, Maybe fluff, Some Fluff, angst holy shit, i love making myself cry, if i had a dollar for everytime i wrote unrequited parkian, just wilding with the angst, parkian, parkian angst, parkian au, parkian cooking au, parkian fluff, where does all this angst come from holy shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:21:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27935389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoke_rings_and_paper_dolls/pseuds/smoke_rings_and_paper_dolls
Summary: younghyun's cooking them both lunch and jae doesn't know he's breaking his heart.
Relationships: Kang Younghyun | Young K/Park Jaehyung | Jae
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	i gave you my heart and you used it as seasoning

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so sorry but the only parkian i seem to be capable of writing is parkian angst, for some reason. yeah. i'm not proud :') on another note, apologies for how short this one is, but i couldn't bear to give them any closure so [head in hands] i hope you enjoy it !!

“I don’t know why we’re doing this”

the sizzle of vegetables hitting the oil-drizzled pan echoes across bare walls and joining a faint marimba rhythm seeping out of the broken-down radio that sits at the kitchen counter. it fills the air around their heads, like a cloud of comfort settling over their shoulders.

younghyun sways his hips a little; he loves the feeling of the music encompassing him. 

“quite frankly, the whole process of manual cooking is redundant. whatever happened to upholding the sanctity of tradition, stale soda and Chinese takeout? you forget your origins, mister wannabe Michelin; we’re still broke college kids at heart” jae scoffs, but his argument is more fueled by boredom than the desire to prove a point.

and regardless, younghyun learned a long time ago to stop paying heed to jae’s complaints. he, however, doesn’t let it stop him from flashing the elder a coy smile as he reaches for the salt. the man in question, who is perched at the marble countertop edge like a blond, lanky and particularly grumpy housecat, merely watches him through thick lenses and narrowed eyes, lips pulled into an adorable pout.

 _petty as always_ , younghyun notes, with a fond shake of his head.

“what’s after the onions?” he voices instead, carefully stirring the frying vegetables in the pan. younghyun looks up when he isn’t supplied with an answer, suppressing a little chuckle when he realizes he caught jae off guard.

“what?”

something about the gentle surprise in his eyes, his angelic face shrouded in the afternoon sunlight that streams in through their window; he couldn’t even reprimand jae for being distracted, not when he himself was getting so carried away in how good the other looked.

“onions, jae” he laughs, and the sheepish grin that he is offered while jae frantically rushes through google tabs more than makes up for the prospect of accidentally fucking up lunch.

“stir fry till browned, then add spices” comes the diligent response, and it takes everything in him to not regress into a dopey smile, giddy with delight, when those familiar stringy hands come up to fix his glasses up and over the bridge of his nose in the most endearing action younghyun had ever been witness to.

countless years that he’s known jae, and yet he never tires of the view.

it takes a herculean effort for him to tear his gaze away from where the blond man is seated, his long hair shielding away more than half his face, gorgeous darkened streaks running messily through a month-old dye job that either desperately needed to be touched up on (according to jae) or desperately needed to be left alone (according to younghyun).

and he doesn’t even realize he’s staring, too busy taking in the curve of his spine and that delicious dip of skin beyond where his shirt rides up ever so slightly. and his skin just seems to gleam in the afternoon air, something bright and golden that seems to emanate from within him, a perfect complement to the bright smile he would sometimes grace younghyun with.

he was a dream, wasn’t he? he was too good to be true.

and younghyun was selfish enough to take him in, every free moment he got. jae didn’t like him like that, a painful reminder that he would torture himself with every time his heart got too carried away in that sweet laughter or gentle touch.

 _he doesn’t like you like that_ , but that could never stop younghyun from watching jae.

god, he sounded like a creep; but could he really be blamed? _fools in love rushing dangerously_ -

“your onions are burning” jae breaks through his reverie with a playful quip and a sly smirk, and younghyun has to hold back from doing regretful things, choosing instead to scowl at that stupid smug grin on his stupid smug face. he turns back to the pan with a resolute sigh, fixing jae with a last deadpan glare before balefully giving the cooking onions another toss.

“the onions are nowhere even close to caramelized, you dumbass. maybe if you actually knew how to cook anything other than packet-tteokbokki…” he sighs playfully, to which he receives a sound of indignation in response.

“I know _very well_ how long it takes to cook onions” jae snarks, and yet there is that same dancing spark of humor behind his eyes, that only causes younghyun’s smile to widen.

“you don’t have the mental capacity to caramelize onions” younghyun tosses out, and it’s just that, the familiar back and forth of teasing humor and snappy banter that causes something in his chest to churn over itself.

he lets his gaze wander away from the pan for the umpteenth time that afternoon, and over to where jae is tucked in on himself in the corner of the kitchen, glasses slipping over his nose and hair falling in his face.

he can’t help it; this is his favorite pastime, watching his park jaehyung.

it’s a sleepy sort of afternoon; the kitchen is filled with a gentle chill from the september air outside that compliments the slow warmth of the overhead sun so well, and jae, of course, in his oversized white tee with its collar worn down to the bone from extensive use and his faded black shorts that he refuses to throw out, and younghyun, who had trudged over to his apartment in his band shirt and sweatpants, armed with bags full of groceries and no warm greeting.

just a smile and- “make room, we’re doing lunch ourselves today,” and here they were.

“sometimes I tire of you, mister kang younghyun” comes jae’s resolute statement, from over the edge of a glass of apple juice. his free hand is unconsciously tapping out a quick tambor next to his thigh, and younghyun can only shake his head at his fastidious annoying-ness.

park jaehyung; stubborn, snappy, sarcastic beyond requirement and graced with the weirdest sense of humor younghyun had ever encountered. he even spoke weird, that unconventional lilt of an American accent hiding behind his fluent Korean (that, underneath all the teasing, younghyun was terribly fond of). younghyun flashed jae an unimpressed glare.

sometimes he couldn’t understand why he was so fond of this annoying dumbass.

and then: “here, brian-” comes the casual laugh, and before he knows it jae is raising a straw to younghyun’s lips, dipped into his glass of chilled juice, “-have a sip”.

“you must be thirsty” he smiles nonchalantly, like it was an obvious thing to do, like the brush of his wrist against younghyun’s chin doesn’t cause his pulse to jump just a little and the burning in his ears wasn’t not caused due to the oppressive afternoon warmth.

“now what on earth would you do without me” he sighs playfully, continuing to hold the glass in place while younghyun finishes taking a sip. “I’m the best thing you could ever wish for”

a moment of oppressive silence; there are so many words that he is dying to say.

 _all I could ever wish for is for you to stay here with me and watch me cook in the afternoon sunlight forever_ and _I wish you saw the way I looked at_ you or maybe _you’re so beautiful in my eyes_ or _you feel like home to me_.

it takes effort to keep from letting these things spill past his lips, all of which culminates into the same silence that jae, infuriatingly enough, seems comfortable sharing.

so younghyun doesn’t say a word either, as jae leans against the counter, and he jerks his chin back from the glass and his lips away from the straw- he’s done- and he expects jae to go back to his perch at the marble countertop.

except he doesn’t.

except he sets the glass down where he was sitting across the tiny kitchen, and makes his way over to where younghyun is frozen in front of his caramelizing onions and his damned heart, and loops his lanky arms around younghyun’s waist and he settles his chin into the crook of younghyun’s neck, and god-

_this means nothing, you idiot_

-younghyun can physically feel the aching clench in his chest.

love, he is reminded, is difficult and love is unfair sometimes.

 _it’s unfair_ , he thinks, as jae’s familiar arms, all skin and bone and sinew, tighten across younghyun’s stomach in a move that knocks the wind right out of his lungs. _it’s unfair_ , his heart echoes, when jae turns his face inwards until the tip of his nose is burrowing into the soft skin at the confluence of younghyun’s neck and shoulder and his breathing is the only sensory input younghyun can register. _it’s unfair_ , the words are a plea, a cry in the solace of his mind because he can’t take any more of loving this man and not being loved back the same.

because jae’s arms are wrapped around his soul, and yet no part of him belongs to the other.

he has no claim over this love.

“ice cream for dessert?” he chokes out, nimbly slipping out of jae’s hold. he can’t bear that warmth- his warmth- anymore. the false pretense of spices in the shelves overhead, a minute to catch his breath away from jae’s gaze.

“sure,” comes the reply, and he’s already gone.


End file.
